


Right the First Time

by Always_Dreaming



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Blackmail, Blow Jobs, Cheering up Jorge, Gay Sex, Home truths, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Psychoanalysis, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Dreaming/pseuds/Always_Dreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a different reason for Jorge losing concentration in this part of the season- Iannone does something treacherous to Jorge but luckily, Aleix is all ready to help him get revenge...</p><p>I just want Jorge to be happy, he seems to be really struggling at the moment…</p><p>This kind of follows on from Apology Accepted and Bad Dog but you don't have to read those to know what's going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Freudian Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aleix reads a new book.

**At the Red Bull Ring, Spielberg, Austria 2016**

 

After the practice sessions on the track, Jorge sat in his garage with his head in his hands. 

_My life’s all going wrong. I can’t get my confidence back even after the summer holiday. I keep crashing, my bike isn’t right and those Italians are plotting against me._

He’d noticed that now days, Iannone was best friends with Rossi and they were always muttering in corners together, looking at him and giggling. He did his best to ignore them but on top of everything else it was the last straw.

A slap on his shoulder made him jump.

“Come on Jorge, cheer up, me old mate,” said a rather nasal but soft English voice, and he looked up to see Bradley Smith smiling at him. “Come and watch me and Pol do the ‘How much do they know?’ interview. It’s always a laugh.”

Jorge sighed. He might as well go. He stood up slowly and trudged after the cheery Englishman to the Tech 3 garage. He was allowed to go in there because he was a Yamaha rider too, so followed Bradley up to their offices.

He watched glumly as Bradley and Pol sat in front of the camera answering questions about Austria. They struggled with ‘who is a famous Austrian?’ ‘what are some Austrian foods?’ ‘Do you know any Austrian music?’ and so on, guessing wildly and making up names. Jorge smiled a little but the loud laughing of Aleix, who was also watching, annoyed him.

“It’s not _that_ funny,” he muttered to himself, scrunching up his hands into fists.

At last the Tech 3 boys finished their interview and stood up.

“Fancy going for a drink with us?” asked Bradley. Jorge couldn’t see any reason not to, so trailed after the little group of the Englishman, his team mate and team mate’s brother, feeling like an outsider. 

They went to the nearest hospitality suite and sat outside at the wooden tables in the evening sun. Bradley and Pol went to get the drinks, leaving Jorge sitting awkwardly with Aleix.

“Looking forward to moving to your new team next year?” he asked politely.

“You mean Aprilia?”

“Yes. Them.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t expect the champion to remember a minor rider’s team moves,” Aleix sneered.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind, sorry!”

“Well…okay. Are you looking forward to going to Ducati? Stoner said he is going to prepare the bike for you.”

Jorge frowned. “I don’t need it prepared for me, I can do it myself.”

Aleix stared at him for a long moment, then took out a very fat book from his rucksack and turned away to read it.

Jorge looked out at all the activity around him—lucky fans wearing ID badges strolling around excitedly, mechanics hurrying past carrying bike parts, riders being stopped by people asking for autographs.

 _Where’s my drink? I need it._ He waited and waited, wondering if he should go and look for the Tech 3 riders. Aleix made a noise of surprise at his book.

“What are you reading?” Jorge didn’t really care but he was still trying to be polite.

Aleix held up his book _The Interpretation of Dreams by Sigmund Freud._ “I’m interested in psychology,” he explained.

Jorge raised his eyebrows.

“Maybe your dreams will give you a clue why you aren’t doing so well lately.” He turned back to his book as Jorge glared at him.

At last Pol returned. “Here’s yours, mate,” he said, handing a bottle of beer to Jorge, then one to Aleix. “Bradley’s got caught by some fans, I better go and save him.” He hastened back into the bar.

 _Damn. He is funnier than his boring brother._ Jorge sighed.

“I think you’re suffering from lack of confidence,” said Aleix, still looking at his book. “It says here that can be due to lack of sexual fulfilment,” he read out. Jorge nearly choked on his drink. “Maybe that’s your problem.” Aleix didn’t look at him but wore a smirk on his face that Jorge wanted to slap off.

 _Since when did Aleix become so annoying? Since when did everyone become so annoying?_ Jorge glowered into his beer. He didn’t like drinking out of a bottle so had poured it into a glass. He liked things to be just right and of the highest quality.

“Or it could be lack of a suitable paternal role model in your life.” Aleix was still reading from the enormous book. Jorge ground his teeth. _He’s obviously been reading about my life story, not just that psychology book. Damn him._

Just then, Rossi and Iannone strolled by. _Just what I need right now!_ Jorge tried to turn away so they didn’t see him but it was too late.

“Ah, Jorge, having a drink with a friend!” exclaimed Rossi, clapping him on the back particularly hard.

Aleix wasn’t a friend but Jorge wasn’t going to admit that he’d got stuck with him, so he nodded.

“What’s that huge book?” asked Iannone, peering at it, so Aleix held it up.

“Sorry about your crash today,” continued Rossi, not looking sorry.

“I’ll get over it.”

“Must really knock your confidence.”

Jorge shrugged.

“One-upmanship and competitiveness,” said Aleix, reading aloud, “is a sign of lack of confidence and also possibly sexual dysfunction.” He looked directly at Rossi.

“What?” said the Italian.

“It means, if a person tries to play mind games to put their competitor off, they are actually the ones with a lack of confidence and possibly sexual dys—”

“Yes, yes, yes, we heard you the first time,” Rossi snapped and nodded to Iannone, who slammed the book, almost trapping Aleix’s fingers. “We’ll be going now.” They strode off, muttering to each other.

Jorge’s suppressed laughter burst out. “Thanks, I think you were defending me with psychoanalysis.”

“Actually I was totally making that up. Freud is obsessed with sex so it was a good guess.” Aleix smiled, making Jorge laugh more.

“Here we are!” Bradley and Pol bounded up. The daylight was fading now and the little round lamps on each table and hanging in swathes like bunting had switched on, giving the place a softer, warmer appearance. “Sorry we kept you waiting, did we miss anything?”

“No, no,” said Jorge. “We just swatted a couple of annoying flies away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t posted a fic before without knowing exactly where it’s going, what’s happening and how long it’ll be. *nervous face* So anything could happen in the next chapters…


	2. Siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn’t fun to be alone.
> 
> Maybe some hints why Jorge is a bit distracted at the moment. Only in fanfic world of course ;)

**At the Red Bull Ring, Spielberg, Austria 2016**

During the Austrian race, the riders also suffered from changeable weather—the curse of August in Europe before the generally hot, late summer in September. But this time, Jorge managed to adjust his riding style a little and finished in 10th place. So he didn’t feel quite as low as before the summer break and the terrible result of 15th in Germany. _Maybe I could aim for 5th place in Brno next week—move up five places each race? Thank god there’s only a week to wait—one race after another will keep my head in the game and not let me get distracted._

He wandered off towards his motorhome, wanting to take a shower, relax for a while and not speak to anyone.

“Better this week, Jorge?” said a voice, however, and he turned with a sigh to see Aleix, who had come 7th at the Red Bull Ring today.

“Yes, not too bad. Well done for beating me.”

Aleix laughed. “Not something that usually happens.”

They stood staring at each other for a moment.

“So you haven’t got any psychological advice for me today?” _Damn. Why did I say that?_

“Hm, I don’t know.” Aleix stared at him as if he was an experiment in a laboratory. “What’s going on between you and Iannone?”

“N-nothing! What? Nothing’s going on, he’s just an idiot, he—”

“Ah. I knew those rumours were true.”

“Who’s been spreading rumours about us? Rossi?”

Aleix smiled. “So something is going on. I thought so.”

Jorge blushed at being caught out so easily.

“You were awkward with him last week, that’s all. Keep away from him. He’s a troublemaker.”

“I know that! I don’t need you to tell me!” He considered whether to tell Aleix what Iannone had done to him but didn’t trust the Spaniard. He didn’t trust anyone these days, it was better to keep it all to himself.

“Let me tell you something else then. You don’t love your team and they don’t love you. That is your problem these days.”

“They do love me! They made a video wishing me happy birthday in May!”

“That video was—well—a bit half-hearted. It’s important to feel you are in a team who loves you. I should know, when Suzuki—”

“What does it matter? You’re always going on about love. Respect and influence in the team are much more important. In fact, they are more important in all areas of life. Love is overrated. I learned to do without love a long time ago.” _What did I say that for? Why do I just blurt out the first thing that comes into my head?_

Aleix was staring at him as if he’d just confessed to murder.

 _Good. That’ll keep him quiet. Funny boy._ He was only three years younger than Jorge but it suited him to think of the Espargaros as a much lower status than himself. They hadn’t even won a MotoGP title between them, whereas he’d already won three.

“Well, I must go and see how Pol is doing. See you around.” Aleix sauntered off.

_Off he goes again to his beloved brother. I wonder what it’s like having a brother? How long is it since I saw my sister?_

His sister Laura lived and worked in London, she probably thought about him but she didn’t have the time or interest to visit constantly. She had been to some of his races but that was all. His parents were divorced and he’d even had to ban his father from attending his races due to his behaviour. They were all busy with their own lives, which was fair enough. But Aleix had Pol to support him, Marc had Alex, Valentino had Luca and even though Dani’s brother Eric wasn’t a rider, he was always visiting to support him. 

_Well that is my life. I focus entirely on winning and don’t have time for distractions._

Jorge strode off to his motorhome, putting thoughts of love at the back of his mind.

***

**At the Automotodrom Brno, Czech Republic, 2016**

After the qualifying sessions at Brno, someone knocked on Jorge’s motorhome door. He sauntered to open it, reluctant to be interrupted in his relaxed state. The weather was scorching hot so he was only wearing knee length shorts and flip flops and it looked a bit undignified in his opinion.

He opened the door to see Iannone standing there. He stepped back with a gasp, and nearly shut the door, but the Italian put his foot in the door to stop him.

“I’ve brought you a message,” he said while Jorge just stared coldly at him.

“Who from?”

“Vale.”

Jorge folded his arms. “You’re just his _schiavo_ now, are you?”

“No!” Iannone drew himself up proudly. “I am nobody’s slave.”

“Just tell me the message and get lost.”

“I must come in to tell you.” He smiled but his eyes were expressionless.

“No. Why should you?”

“Because people are staring.” He inclined his head towards some passers-by who were indeed staring at the two riders arguing. “They may know more about you than you think.”

Jorge glared at him but pulled him by the t-shirt through the door into the darker, cool lounge.

“What’s the message? Tell me then leave.”

“Vale wants to be friends with you. He says this situation has gone on long enough. It wasn’t your fault Marquez ruined his championship last year and he has now forgiven you.”

“Oh, has he?” He was just about to launch into all the reasons he wouldn’t be friends with Vale if he was the last person on earth, when his phone beeped. To be deliberately rude to his visitor, he turned his back on him to read the message.

_Come and have a drink with me, Pol and Bradley to celebrate your 3rd place in qualifying. Aleix._

“I have to go.” Jorge stood up straight, silently thanking Aleix. “You can tell Vale to stick his friendship up his arse and you can too, you fucking—”

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” Iannone hurried out of the door, followed closely by Jorge to make sure he didn’t turn back. “How’s your bed? Did you mend it after I broke it?”

“Fuck off.” He pushed Iannone down the steps but the Italian made a kissing face at him so he nearly punched him, but luckily noticed the onlookers in time and restrained himself.

Then he noticed Aleix hovering nearby too, with his eyebrows raised, looking from him to Iannone, who was walking away.

Jorge felt like he’d been caught with his hand in the cash till by the shopkeeper and stood staring at Aleix for a few moments.

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” he said at last, then went back into his motorhome to collect himself, put on a t-shirt and smarter shorts. He hoped Aleix wouldn’t take back his offer of going out for his drink with the group. It was flattering to be invited out somewhere for once—Dani, Dovi and Marc always seemed too busy to talk to him these days.


	3. Iannone Goes Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All stories need a villain or two…
> 
> Aleix tells Jorge a few home truths but he's not prepared for what Jorge tells him in return.

**At the Automotodrom Brno, Czech Republic, 2016**

The Brno hospitality area was very different to the one at the Red Bull Ring. It was more clinical and modern looking, ironically as the circuit was older, with black and white tables and chairs instead of rustic wooden ones.

The riders were all drinking orange juice, lemonade or coke of course as it was race day tomorrow but it was still nice to sit outside with the gentle breeze blowing after the sizzling hot day. They chatted for a while about how the weather would affect them and their bikes, but then moved onto other topics.

“So, you used to be Mr Consistent, what’s changed lately?” asked Pol of Jorge, who sat back in surprise.

“Dunno.” He shrugged, unwilling to go into details.

“Maybe you could tell us how you were consistent before, then,” said Aleix, nudging his brother.

“Well, you have to treat each lap as if it’s the same. Whoever is around you, whatever they are doing, ignore them unless they directly get in your way.”

“But each lap is different—different riders around you, different weather conditions, things on the track,” interrupted Aleix. “We can’t just decide what to do and do it regardless.”

Jorge shrugged. “You have to. What I do is choose markers round the track so I know where to do what. Like little faults in the kerb, marks on the track surface and so on, then I just do the same thing each lap. Surely you must do that too.”

“Sometimes,” said Bradley. “It’s hard though with everything changing all the time.”

“You have to make it easy for yourself and stick to your plan.”

The other three stared at the current world champion.

“For someone who has no idea how the human mind works, you’re sure good at telling us what to do,” said Pol.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You didn’t understand that the rest of us needed your safety advice after Luis died.”

Jorge frowned at him, Aleix threw up his hands, and Bradley said, “It’s good that the weather has cooled down a bit now a bit, isn’t it guys?”

“I thought we’d got over that,” said Jorge to Pol. “I know I was wrong—can’t we just leave it now?”

“But you don’t know _why_ you were wrong, do you?” Pol stood up, so did Jorge and they glared at each other like boxers about to fight.

“Pol, just drop it,” instructed Aleix. “Be aggressive on track tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you tell me if you’re so clever?” demanded Jorge, glaring even more fiercely at Pol.

There was an awkward pause with neither of them backing down.

“It’s getting late,” said Aleix eventually. “It’s the race tomorrow. Brad, take Pol back to his motorhome and I’ll walk back with Jorge to his.”

The two pairs separated. Jorge strode back to his van, not caring if he was walking too fast in the heat.

After a while though, he couldn’t contain himself. “Why do people always think I’m the bad guy? Even when others treat me badly, I’m the one who gets criticised and people turn on me.”

“Is this about Sepang last year? As well as Luis’s death?”

“I guess so.”

“Okay, listen. It’s not always about you, Jorge. Firstly, many of Vale’s fans are mentally deficient and defend him even when he’s wrong. Secondly, many people must secretly fantasise about you and Marc or they wouldn’t have obsessed over you. Thirdly, some people can’t cope when you just bluntly say what you think. There’s nothing wrong with speaking bluntly, it just offends some people. Fourthly, you should have kept out of Vale and Marc’s argument like Dani did.”

“But—”

“And about Luis—because he died, it was a special situation so we needed experienced riders like you and Rossi. You didn’t need an invitation, you should have known the safety meeting was being held at that time.”

“But—”

Aleix held up his hand. “That’s how it is. You asked and I told you. You just have to think about it now.”

“Alright.” Jorge looked away, smarting from being told point blank what he’d done wrong. They had reached his motorhome now. “Night then.” He stomped up the steps and shut the door firmly.

***

Aleix exhaled and made a face at the ground. _So that’s a potential friendship gone down the drain already. But what did I expect? I just felt sorry for him struggling with his bike or mind or whatever and thought he could do with a break._

 

The next evening however, Aleix was beaming with happiness. He’d achieved fourth place in the Brno race, his best result all season. He sat at a table in the hospitality area—the whole room was heaving with overexcited riders, their families, friends, the support staff, the team bosses and everyone else remotely connected with the racing. The atmosphere was hot and sweaty, loud music pumped out from numerous speakers, so combined with people shouting over the songs, the noise was deafening. Aleix looked around the room to see his brother cavorting about with his friends, but after yesterday he was a bit tired of Pol so left him to his antics. He knew he’d get over being annoyed with his little brother—he always did—so he smiled indulgently and took a swig of his too sweet cocktail, which made him grimace instead.

A flashing strobe highlighted two figures in conversation facing each other against the opposite wall—well it looked more like an argument with hand gestures. Aleix screwed up his eyes to see through the crowd of gyrating people, and realised they were Jorge and Iannone. A shiver ran down his spine and he felt that Jorge was in terrible danger or trouble. 

_Where the hell are his Yamaha mechanics and engineers? They should be with him, celebrating the great result he got today._ He looked round the room to see all the Yamaha employees in one corner revolving around Rossi, who had only come sixth. _Kind of like my Suzuki team, who are fussing over Maverick even though I beat him this race._

He rolled his eyes and weaved his way through the dancing, talking, kissing party guests, many of whom grabbed at him so they could discuss the race, but at last he reached the Yamaha rider. He barged in front of Iannone and said, “congratulations on your second place, Jorge. Great to see you back on top.” Iannone burst into a fit of dirty laughing behind him and the hairs on the back of Aleix’s neck stood up. _So I was right. It’s a sexual thing between them. I’ve got a bad feeling about this._

He made himself as tall and wide as he could to exclude the giggling Italian. Jorge was frowning warily so Aleix said, “this circuit seems to suit you better, or was it the weather? It’s great you beat your team mate too.”

Jorge’s face relaxed and he launched into a description of the race and how everything had gone so well today. It was hard to hear over the racket from the party and he was rather slurring his words but Aleix tried to nod in the right places and encourage him to talk.

At last, Iannone moved away, so Aleix asked, “What’s he been saying to upset you?” and nodded towards the Italian as he wended his way through the crowd.

Jorge said, “I can’t tell you, there’s too many people around.”

“Okay, we’ll go outside.”

It took ages to escape the party because both riders were constantly stopped by people eager to congratulate them on their races. But at last they were outside in the coolness of the night. Jorge stumbled a bit as the fresh air hit him, so Aleix pulled him by the arm onto a convenient bench.

“Tell me. I’m worried about you.” Aleix wasn’t lying. His gut was twisting in knots, a sure sign of trouble somewhere.

“Promise not to tell a soul, or I’ll kill you. I mean it.”

“Alright, alright. I promise. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“Me and Iannone—we kind of—got into a—a fucking relationship which was fine but he secretly made a video of us doing it and sent it to Rossi and me and god knows who else.”

Aleix stared at him in horror. “He…Did…What?”

“You heard. Don’t make me say it again.”

“How? I mean, when? I mean, how did he—”

“Dunno. He must have set up a camera or phone or something without me seeing. Now he and Rossi are laughing at me all the time and I don’t know who else knows.”

“That is horrible! That’s illegal. You could tell the police.”

“Yeah, right! Then it would get out and the whole world would know. I kept it to myself! But now you know too!”

“I won’t tell anyone. I won’t. Trust me. So that’s what’s been fucking with your head. Jesus! How could he?”

 _This is all Rossi’s doing. He set Jorge up. I have to do something…_ Aleix clenched his fists.

***

The next morning, Jorge woke with a terrible hangover and a terrible realisation. _I told Aleix Espargaro about the sex tape Iannone made of him and me._ He sighed so hard he blew some papers off his bedside table. _What a fucking idiot I am. My life is just getting worse. What’s the matter with me? I don’t usually have random fuckbuddies. I haven’t been the same since Sepang, I was so angry and hurt by what happened, I’ve gone insane. I need to get my life back to normal. I’m going to ignore Aleix from now on, he’s sure to gossip about me. Or maybe I could tell him I made it all up. What a fool I’ve been._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think the story was going to go _this_ way...
> 
> I got the racing information from listening to Coulthard commentating at the last F1 race, he's very informative!


	4. Gladiator

**At Silverstone Circuit, Great Britain 2016**

After the qualifying sessions, Jorge was sitting in his motorhome relaxing on the sofa when someone banged violently on the door. He peered through the spyhole to see Aleix hopping from foot to foot outside, so opened the door. His visitor barged straight in, pushing Jorge out of the way.

“Sorry but Iannone and Rossi are following me—shut the door, quick.”

Jorge did as he was told, then stared at Aleix, unsure what to say. So much for ignoring him after the sex tape confession.

“How are you feeling now? I couldn’t stop thinking about what those bastards did to you.” He suddenly hugged Jorge, who froze for a minute before hugging back. Aleix felt very solid and steady, which was reassuring.

“I’m alright. I’m tough. But it’s horrible not to know who’s seen the video. Makes me feel sick.”

“Well I haven’t, and Pol hasn’t said anything. He wouldn’t be able to keep something like that secret.”

Jorge let go of him and turned away, genuinely feeling ill.

“Are they blackmailing you? What do they want?”

“They haven’t made any blackmail demands. They are just fucking with my head. It’s not like they need money, is it?”

Aleix snorted. “No, they’re hardly penniless.”

“They’re just being bastards.” He laughed wryly.

“We need to film them doing something wrong and threaten them with it.”

“But what?”

“That’s what we’ll have to find out. But anyway, they didn’t stop you getting second place at Brno, did they? That’s awesome.”

“Yes. Their faces afterwards—like I’d slapped them with a wet fish.”

They laughed bitterly, then Jorge remembered his manners. “Would you like a drink? I’ve got fruit juice, water, tea, coffee. Sit down on the sofa and I’ll bring it over.”

“I’ll have orange juice please.”

Jorge went to the fridge, then gabbled, “and I want to say thanks for telling me what I did wrong about Sepang and Luis, and thanks for listening about the sex tape and keeping it a secret, I don’t know who to trust anymore.” He took two orange juices over to his guest.

“You’re welcome. I don’t approve of blackmail, we need to get revenge.” Aleix clinked his glass with Jorge’s.

***

On the podium, they clinked champagne bottles with each other and Marquez. It was a happy trio, after one of the classic battles between Jorge and Marc, first one in front, then the other, back and forth all race, but finally the #99 Yamaha had pulled away to win while Marc fought with his misbehaving Honda. Aleix had finished a few seconds behind them in a lonely third place but it was still a podium. And even better, his brother finished as the leading independent rider, so there was a lot of hugging, jumping up and down, taking funny selfies and champagne spraying in everyone’s hair, down their necks, in their eyes.

At the after race party, the podium group celebrated together. Jorge was particularly happy to see Rossi and Iannone sulking in one corner with their followers pretending their low finishing places were huge triumphs. Jorge kept catching Aleix’s glance and nodding towards the resentful Italians.

“Uccio doesn’t look happy, does he,” said Aleix. 

“Doesn’t he?” Jorge looked over at Rossi’s right hand man, who was sitting at the table scowling and not talking to anyone. “Why not?”

“He is feeling like the chaperone to Rossi and Iannone now. Iannone follows Rossi round like his devoted dog, so he loves the attention and ignores Uccio.”

Jorge winced at the word _dog_ but shook his head. That was in the past now.

The evening continued, with everyone getting more and more drunk, more and more loud and telling more and more far-fetched stories and tall tales.

At last when it was the early hours, everyone staggered off in different directions to their beds.

“Why are you walking with me?” asked Jorge of Aleix as they were stumbling along the same path.

“I don’t want Captain America and Bucky hassling you again.”

“Who?” asked Jorge, giggling.

“Rossi and Iannone. They think they’re superheroes but they’re just crap.”

“Poor Captain America, what’s he done to deserve that?” Jorge couldn’t stop laughing now.

“He’s always reminded me of Rossi. They’re both in the closet.” Aleix got the giggles too. “And Bucky looks at him with the vacant, adoring stare that Iannone looks at Rossi with.”

“You should call him Captain Italia, not America.”

“Yes. Captain Italia, and...Fucky!”

They were both hysterical with laughter as they reached Jorge’s motorhome.

“Night then,” he said, and automatically went to kiss Aleix goodnight before he realised what he was doing. He just registered that he had to stand up on tiptoes a little to kiss him, before he was pushing his friend against the wall of the motorhome, their tongues wrestling with each other and getting caught on each other’s teeth, their bodies pressed tightly, bruisingly against each other, no air between them. Jorge felt light headed, one hand bracing himself against the smooth wall of the van, the other clutching at Aleix’s hair.

They stopped for breath, Aleix’s eyes were wide and he was breathing hard.

“Do you want to come in, and—and—I dunno—do something?” Jorge struggled to think clearly and even to breathe.

Aleix’s eyes widened even more and he pushed him away. “No!” he snapped, and moved towards the steps. “I don’t want to be some random fuck, I want to be a boyfriend.”

Jorge gulped and stared at him but he turned quickly and staggered off unsteadily towards his own motorhome. When he’d gone out of sight, Jorge stamped through the front door and slammed it.

***

Aleix was cursing to himself as he went home. How many times when younger had he gone back to someone’s place and ended up as a random fuck? How many times had he realised that it wasn’t what he wanted and told himself not to do it? He’d given it up a few years ago and he was damned if he was going to start doing that again. He was far too old and sensible to go back to those ways.

He unlocked his door after a few attempts, and found Pol sprawled on the sofa. _Great. Just what I need, an interrogation by my brother._

“Aleix! Where you been?” Pol stood up and flung his arms round him.

“Talking to people. Gerroff. I’m hot and sweaty and want a shower.” He pushed his brother away and shuffled off towards the bathroom. “Let yourself out, will you.”

He flung his clothes off, swearing to himself, and jumped in the shower, turning his face up to the water. He was super hard though, so just went with it and wanked himself off roughly, still cursing, until he came so intensely his head swam. He was still annoyed though. _That damn Jorge tempting me like a demon. I wanted to go into his motorhome with him but it would ruin everything. I can’t be just some fuckbuddy to him—what if it got nasty between us? What if I ended up like Iannone?_ He gritted his teeth, dried himself and got ready for bed.

***

Jorge stamped around his motorhome, not sure what to do with himself, frustrated and annoyed. _How had a nice evening gone so wrong? How dare Aleix reject me like that? At least with Iannone, if either of us felt horny, we just texted each other. But I’m not going there again. So much for celebrating my first win for months._ He tore his clothes off and flung himself on his bed.

He woke up sitting in the stands of a Roman arena watching two tanned, oiled, gladiators fighting each other, wearing nothing but loincloths and brandishing swords and shields. The crowd jeered and howled around him, then he looked more closely at the gladiators to see they were Aleix and Iannone in combat, trading blow for blow. Jorge stared, hypnotised, then something else caught his eye high up in the stands. He looked up to see Rossi, dressed as a Roman emperor, with a slave boy sitting on his lap feeding him grapes. Rossi held up his thumb, then turned it downwards in the classic gesture. Jorge couldn’t remember whether this meant the gladiators were to kill each other or not, so looked back into the arena to see it had changed. Now Aleix and Iannone were mud wrestling, the creamy, sticky mixture coating their bodies like paint, getting in their hair and all over their weapons. Finally, Aleix triumphed and pushed Iannone to the ground, and he lay there panting. Aleix stood up with his foot on the Italian’s chest, thrust his sword up towards the sky in a gesture of victory and his loincloth fell off to reveal his—

Jorge woke up with a jolt to find he was fucking the bed, sticky heat pulsing out all over his stomach. He shuddered to a halt, panting, and lay there for a few minutes to calm down. After he’d got his breathing under control, he peeled himself off the sheet and crawled up the bed to sit against the headboard. He smiled. _Am I twelve years old again, having wet dreams?_ A laugh bubbled up inside and he chuckled out loud at his own behaviour. He wouldn’t need Aleix’s psychoanalysis to work out the meaning of that dream—it was pretty clear. Then some pieces clicked into place in his mind. _I told Aleix about the worst thing I’ve ever done and he didn’t judge me, he just got angry on my behalf. If he wants a boyfriend, a boyfriend he shall get. He better be ready for me. I like a challenge._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I’ve been watching too many episodes of Spartacus lately.


	5. Captain Italia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. As it always does.

**At the Misano World Circuit Marco Simoncelli, Italy 2016**

The first evening the riders arrived in Misano, Rossi and Iannone flopped down in bed after a particularly adventurous sex session. They lay next to each other, catching their breath for a while, then Vale said, “So…Andrea, the sex tape isn’t intimidating Lorenzo as we thought, is it?”

“No. He’s just getting better and better results. My plan is failing. I’m so sorry, Vale.”

Vale patted his arm. “We will think of something else. What else can we do to put him off racing?”

“Maybe…we could spy on him to get more evidence? Like secret agents.” They giggled.

“Erm…yes…he seems to be friends with the Espargaros lately, especially Aleix. Maybe something going on there?”

Andrea sneered. “I noticed. Why would he be friends with such a scrawny girl as Aleix Espargaro? Such a waste of space.”

Vale was surprised at the spiteful tone he used to describe Aleix, who he’d always rather liked. Still, if hurting the older Espargaro prevented Jorge from winning the 2016 championship, it would be worth it. Vale fantasised about holding the trophy aloft again after so many years. Any scheme which allowed him to do that again would be priceless.

***

Jorge knocked at the door of Aleix’s motorhome. He’d put on a black short sleeved shirt and smart, dark jeans. He liked dressing more formally—he felt more himself like this after such a long time of being confused and struggling with his bike, his mind and everything. Someone called “Come in!” so he stepped over the threshold to see Pol doing the washing up in the kitchen area.

“Oh hello. Aleix is in the shower. He cooked us dinner then spilt sauce all over himself so had to clean up. What a jerk.” Pol laughed loudly. “He won’t take long, sit down.”

Jorge sat on the sofa, not sure what to say—the last time he’d spoken to Pol they had argued but that was weeks ago. After a few minutes, the bathroom door crashed open and Aleix stamped out, wearing only a white towel round his waist and one over his head.

“Help me Pol, I’ve got shampoo in my eye and it’s really bad.”

“Er—we’ve got a visitor, bro.”

Aleix took the towel off his head—his left eye was very red. “Oh it’s you,” he said.

“My sister puts cucumber on her eyes if they get irritated,” suggested Jorge. “So if you’ve got any of that?” 

The brothers shook their heads.

“It’ll have to be water then.” Jorge looked around and saw a box of tissues, so went to soak them under the tap in the kitchen. Aleix was dabbing at his eye with the white towel so Jorge led him to the sofa and bathed the eye with the wet tissues. He quite liked to see Aleix a bit flustered when he was normally so in control—for a change he could look after him a little.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” said Pol, and hurried out, probably on his own romantic mission.

“That’s better,” said Aleix after a little while, blinking as his eye calmed down. “You look hot, going out somewhere?”

“Thanks but I came to say sorry for propositioning you last race. I was going to ask if you wanted to go out to dinner with me tonight as a date but you’ve had dinner already. We could go tomorrow?” He caught his breath after finally delivering the long rehearsed speech.

Aleix paused and Jorge’s heart sank.

“Pol and I didn’t have a dessert. We could go out for dessert?”

They smiled at each other.

*** 

Jorge and Aleix sat at a table on the balcony area of a restaurant overlooking the lights of the beach and the dark waters of the Adriatic Sea. The waves provided a soothing background noise, swooshing and lapping against the sand, over and over again.

“We have a weird relationship,” said Aleix, as he spooned zabaglione into his mouth.

“I guess we do.” Jorge was devouring some castagnaccio cake.

“Let’s start again from now.” 

“Okay?”

“Good evening, I’m Aleix Espargaro, currently working for Suzuki but soon to be with Aprilia. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.

Jorge shook it. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m Jorge Lorenzo, currently at Yamaha, but soon to be located at Ducati.”

“Do you come here often?”

“No, this is my first visit. How pleasant it is by the sea tonight.”

They were both trying not to giggle and attract the attention of the other diners. But Jorge decided to make it impossible not to laugh—how many corny chat up lines could he get in one conversation? “Do you know CPR?”

“What?!” Aleix’s eyes widened. “Who needs CPR?”

“Me. Because you take my breath away.” He smirked.

“Oh, like that is it? Hm…I seem to have lost my number, can I have yours instead?”

“There must be something wrong with my eyes, I can’t take them off you.”

They were noticeably laughing now and a middle aged lady wearing a tight, rhinestone encrusted dress and her companion, a man in a formal black suit stared at them snobbishly.

“Is it hot in here, or is it just you?” giggled Aleix.

“If I told you that you had a nice body, would you hold it against me?”

A young woman, with auburn hair down to her shoulders looked over at them, then she and her boyfriend, who was wearing board shorts and a t-shirt with a palm tree on, began to laugh too.

“I’m a frog but if you kiss me I’ll turn into a prince.” Aleix fluttered his eyelashes.

Jorge began to say, “did it hurt when you fell out of heaven?” but someone on the beach promenade caught his eye and he froze.

“What’s the matter, my chat up lines too much for you?”

“No.” Jorge grabbed his hand. “Don’t look now but I just saw Iannone. He ducked behind that wall.”

Aleix waited for a few moments, then turned. A man of similar height and colouring to the Italian walked by. “That’s not Iannone, you’re seeing him everywhere.”

“He was there! He was! Behind that wall.”

Aleix still held his hand. “You’re just paranoid due to the sex tape. Relax. They’d have posted it now if they were going to.”

“Talk louder will you, I don’t think the people on the beach heard.” Jorge looked around nervously.

“Sorry. We’ll call the tape _the bank account_ from now on.”

“Okay. God, that was a shock. I thought it was him.”

“We can leave if you like. He’s such a dickhead, I hate him.”

Jorge smiled at the expression of support.

***

“So what are you doing this evening?” Uccio sat with Vale outside their motorhome, enjoying the late summer sunshine at Misano.

Vale shrugged, going off into his own world as his companion continued talking. _Last year my strategy to disrupt Marc didn’t work whatsoever, but this year’s scheme to distract Jorge seems more promising. Andrea’s spying exploits mean we now have a way to help us get further into his head. And then there are my marital plans with my new girlfriend, plans that will bring me even more popularity and fame._ He smiled to himself.

“I saw a dinosaur on track yesterday,” said Uccio. “It was doing a wheelie on the new KTM bike.”

“What? You saw a what?” Vale sat up.

“I knew you weren’t listening. Stop plotting. It’s not right.”

“What? Who says I’m plotting?”

“I’ve known you for over thirty years. I know when you’re plotting.” Uccio’s face was red and he was frowning, which was very unusual for him.

“Calm down, please. I’m not plotting. I swear.” Vale’s stomach twisted a bit as he hated lying to Uccio.

“You are. I don’t care about your plans with that Spanish girl, but you are screwing that son of a bitch Iannone. I know you.” Uccio stood up, the folding beach chair falling backwards and hitting the ground. “You know I don’t mind you fucking around but _he_ is a bad influence on you. He’s weird.”

Vale was about to protest but he knew he couldn’t lie to his oldest friend and lover. “It’s all to make our life better,” he mumbled.

“Oh, fuck you then. Why can’t you just focus on racing instead of playing your little games. I’ve nearly had enough. I warn you.”

Vale laughed. “You wouldn’t ever leave me. We’ve been together too long.”

“Well, I’m going for a walk by myself. I’m leaving you for an hour—think you can cope?” Uccio strode off, leaving Vale sitting with his mouth open.


	6. Prince Aleix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Open warfare. 
> 
> Be warned, there’s a lot of sex in this chapter, that’s why it’s so long. Oo er missus.

**At the Misano World Circuit Marco Simoncelli, Italy 2016**

 

On the grid at Misano, Marc lined up in pole position, beside Jorge and Vale in second and third. Behind Marc stood Aleix, then Iannone and Dani. This of course meant Iannone was right behind Jorge. Aleix looked at the Italian as he sat there, and noticed his gloved middle finger sticking up at him.

_I’m not even going to bother reacting to that._ He turned back to face the red lights.

In the rush to the first corner, everyone barged and shoved and bashed each other, but the three on the front row got there first, followed by Dani scrambling after them, then Aleix and Iannone. The Italian was as wild as ever, pushing Aleix out wider and wider, their fairings and legs scraping until Aleix was beyond the track limits—but luckily the area was tarmac so he managed to control his squirming bike and re-join the race. He hadn’t missed the rude sign Iannone had made at him before they separated, however, as if it was all his fault. So he set off after him, getting more and more angry as the laps went by.

At last he reached him, determined to overtake, but Iannone swerved in front of him. Every time Aleix went to go round him, he cut in front, gesticulating wildly at the Spaniard, making him more and more frustrated until finally their bikes scraped together so hard that sparks flew off.

_Fuck you Iannone. Fuck. You. For the way you treated Jorge and also Pol all those years ago—beating up a sixteen-year-old is wrong! Time for some Rossi-Marquez medicine._

So Aleix began to do the same to him—cutting in front every time he tried to overtake and hanging back instead of pulling away to chase the other riders. He had no idea what order the others were in but could hear the crowd roaring so they must be having an epic battle. But his plan was to pressure Iannone into making a mistake, then go off in pursuit of the front runners. His heart was harder than the Italian’s and his temper was colder—he knew he could win this duel.

The Suzuki and the Ducati stuck together for lap after lap—neither getting away from the other and Iannone’s riding became more and more erratic. On the penultimate lap, they rode into a long corner very close. Iannone tried again to push Aleix wide but misjudged it, his leg got somehow tangled up in the Spaniard’s handlebars and then Aleix and his bike were sliding off into the gravel. The crowd booed and from the ground, Aleix looked up at the big screen to see marshals waving the black flag at Iannone. He grinned, then flopped down to catch his breath. He was lucky it was a slow crash and his bike had hurtled away from him and come to a stop in the gravel, only injuring itself.

***

Aleix limped into the Suzuki garage—the accident had hurt his leg but not seriously. His mechanics and engineers milled around him, shouting:

“Iannone’s a hazard!”

“He deserves a race ban!”

“He’s dangerous!”

“He’s a psycho!”

_If only they knew about the sex tape. Then they’d know what a real psycho he is._ Aleix began getting changed out of his race suit, his left knee and calf hurting more and more. _Maybe I shouldn’t have done that on track but I lost my temper._

There was a babble of voices at the front of the garage, and Iannone broke through a gang of Suzuki staff members, yelling, “Let me talk to him!” He strode right up to Aleix and shouted in his face, “You son of a whore, you ruined my race!”

Dovi came running after him, shouting in Italian, but he was restrained by some Suzuki mechanics.

“It serves you right! You’re a menace and a criminal!” Aleix retorted loudly, pushing Iannone on the shoulder.

“It’s not a crime to battle another rider! You are an imbecile, you should be in Moto 3!” He pushed Aleix in return, making him almost fall backwards over an inconvenient piece of fairing lying around.

“You know what I mean! If I told people what you did to Jorge, you’d be in prison!”

Iannone glared at him and they started wrestling, which was difficult in their inflexible race suits, especially as the Spaniard’s suit was undone to the waist and flapping about.

Just then, Jorge came hurrying in, wearing his Yamaha tracksuit as he was fresh from the press conference.

“What’s going on?” he demanded of the nearest Suzuki mechanic. The mechanics and engineers, who had been watching the fight as if hypnotised, rushed forward to separate the two riders and Dovi stepped up to calm his team mate down, talking rapidly in Italian. After a while the older Ducati rider was able to escort Iannone away, even though he was still broadcasting a stream of swear words, mostly directed at his opponent.

Jorge strode straight up to Aleix. “Come away from this lot, you need a break.” He led him to a smaller room at the back of the garage.

“Did you win?”

“No, little Marc won again. But I beat Captain Italia.” He grinned. “But the main thing is, how did you end up in the gravel? Are you hurt?”

Aleix explained how he’d lost his temper with Iannone, half regretting it now, and how his leg was injured as a result. “I didn’t want that bastard getting past me and ganging up with Rossi on you, like we feared before the race.”

Jorge smiled. “You don’t have to keep saving me. I’m not a damsel in distress. My hair isn’t long enough and I don’t wear dresses.”

Aleix smiled back. “You’re not a damsel, but have you thought, I may be a prince?”

Jorge stepped forward and kissed him for a long time, their tongues twining until they were both weak at the knees. He pushed him against the wall, but not too hard because of his injuries.

“Are you alright, Aleix?” They looked round to see Maverick hurrying into the room. He stopped. “Oh! Sorry! Don’t mind me,” he exclaimed, going red in the face and hastening out again. When he’d gone, they burst out laughing.

“Probably better if you come back to my castle if we want privacy, Prince Aleix.” Jorge led him out of the garage towards his motorhome.

***

After they’d spent a good while alternately kissing on the sofa and drinking the special rehydrating liquid to replace lost fluids after the race, Jorge was now pressing Aleix into the bed, naked muscles rubbing, cocks pushing against each other as they continued kissing. “Tell me if I’m hurting your leg,” he mumbled between kisses.

“No, no, its fine. Don’t stop!”

Jorge moved to kiss his neck, biting and nibbling at it til he groaned. So he moved again, extremely slowly, to Aleix’s throat, collarbone, chest, sucking and licking on his nipples til he arched upwards, desperately pressing his whole body against the Yamaha rider’s. Jorge was determined to please him—he deserved it—so kissed and licked his way down his body, but took his time, torturing him, making him claw at the bed and push towards the maddeningly slow tongue and mouth.

He at last reached his cock, rearing out of the forest of dark brown hair, and nuzzled round it, kissing and licking his balls, making Aleix shudder and growl. Jorge looked up to see only his chin because his head was tipped back into the pillow and he was wriggling, full of tension. Well, there was definitely something he could do to relax him…

He hadn’t given a blow job before but had received plenty, so he thought about what he liked and tried to do the same to Aleix. And judging by the gasps and moans his lover was making, Jorge was doing it right, sucking and licking into all the folds of skin, moving up and down, and varying speed from fast to slow. It was difficult to concentrate as Aleix was moving so much, pushing into his mouth and shuddering but he continued. He didn’t ever give up easily.

“Coming!” gasped Aleix, clutching at Jorge’s hair but he didn’t move, he let his mouth fill with the gush of heat, but there was so much he couldn’t swallow it. He turned to spit some out, then sucked back down for more, not wanting to tease. Afterwards he glanced at the little puddles of cum on the sheet, gleaming like molten pearl. Well that obviously hadn’t been a disaster.

He looked nervously up the bed at his lover, who was still in the head back, arched body position, but after a few minutes, he propped himself up on his elbows to look at Jorge.

“You liked that, then?”

Aleix grinned hazily, then let his head drop back again and held out his arms to Jorge, who crawled up the bed to lie against him. He was soon making those cute, sleepy noises the Yamaha rider liked.

But now Jorge had an urgent need which pressing against Aleix didn’t satisfy. He looked so gorgeous lying there, but he could hardly have sex with him while he was asleep, could he? Instead Jorge stroked himself, looking at the tanned body perfectly draped across the bed, totally relaxed. It didn’t take much time or friction to make him come, and it soon landed like drops of hot rain all over the hazel brown skin.

He couldn’t leave him in a mess like that of course, so despite his spinning head, he carefully got off the bed and staggered off to fetch some tissues. He became so engrossed in wiping every drop of stickiness off the beautiful body, that when its owner said, “Jorge, what are you doing?” he nearly fell off the bed in shock.

“Oh! I—er—I was just—okay, I just came all over you because you looked so hot, I had to—”

“What?!”

_Shit, I’ve upset him!_ “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s not that. I wish I’d watched!” He pouted. “Next time you do that, wake me up.”

Jorge grinned with relief. “It’s a deal.”

***

They woke up facing each other and for a moment Aleix stared at his boyfriend, amazed by how healthy his face looked. Very different from the first time they’d been out for a drink with Pol and Bradley, when he’d looked pale, drawn and miserable.

“Hello handsome,” he said, stroking Jorge’s cheek, pleased to see him blush fiercely.

“Oh—hello then—gorgeous.” He smiled.

Aleix moved forward and kissed him, opening his mouth to taste him and pushing him back on the bed til he was pinned down. They had to stop for breath after a while of course and lay there gazing at each other, Aleix on top. But he had to move because his injured leg was hurting too much and he grimaced, rolling onto his back.

“Alright?” asked Jorge, frowning.

“Yes, I’m fine. You know what it’s like with injuries—you manage.”

“Hm.” He stroked Aleix’s hair, then was pulled down on top of him.

“Let’s do it.” He caressed Jorge’s arse. “Come on.”

“Shouldn’t we wait til you’ve recovered a bit?”

“No. If you do me sideways, it’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Yes! Stop torturing me!” He kissed Jorge passionately again until their hearts were pounding, they could hardly breathe, their erections wrestled with each other and balls ached for release.

 

Lying in bed on his side, Aleix felt very spoiled, despite his race injuries aching. After Jorge had taken unhurried time getting him ready, he now had Jorge’s cock filling him and Jorge’s hand stroking his cock so he didn’t have to do anything but enjoy it. Although Jorge was moving so slowly and slightly he could hardly feel him, teasing him with the lightest of movements. He wasn’t going to beg though, he just gradually lowered his upper leg, making himself tighter inside. Satisfyingly, Jorge yelped and thrust harder. Aleix smiled and pushed back, then Jorge began to move, faster and faster, his breath rasping out. He held Aleix by the shoulder with one hand and rammed into him, his other hand full of stiff cock. They were both panting, focused on the place where they were joined, groaning, pushing against each other. Aleix realised he was muttering, “oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah” and bit his lip. Jorge shuddered and the gush of heat inside Aleix coincided with his own orgasm on the outside, erupting like hot, shaken up champagne. His eyes rolled back and his mind filled with light as the couple moved together, gradually slowing down, panting like they’d been sprinting. He pulled Jorge’s hand round to his chest and held it there happily.

***

After they’d calmed down, Jorge noticed that Aleix was lying very still. He touched him gently on the shoulder. “Alright?” he asked. _Oh god, have I hurt him?_ “Aleix? Al?”

“Oh! Sorry, I zoned out there.” He turned over to face Jorge, a big smile plastered all over his face. “I was just thinking how lucky I am. Yesterday you gave me the best blow job of my life, and today you fuck me into heaven. What did I do to deserve this?”

“ _I’m_ the lucky one. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me lately.” Jorge felt his face heat up like a flame—he never usually said romantic things to anyone. It didn’t matter with Aleix though—he was relaxed about the soppy stuff.

“Aww…” He pulled Jorge into a hug. A lawnmower started rumbling in the distance, the gentle, repetitive engine noise suggesting summer was back and lulling them both off to sleep in their hot, sticky but cosy love nest.


	7. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm, the nice before the nasty, the sweet before the sour…

**At the Misano World Circuit Marco Simoncelli, Italy 2016**

 

Aleix awoke to the smell and sound of cooking bacon. He lazed around happily in bed for a while, but then his stomach rumbled and he had to get up. 

In the kitchen, Jorge was grilling bacon and sausages while frying some eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes.

“What’s this?”

Jorge turned. “It’s a full English breakfast. I used to have breakfasts with Cal before his baby was born. He’s always eating these and I got addicted to them.”

“You used to have breakfasts with Cal?”

“Yes, and I thought you and I hadn’t had enough sausage lately so we needed more.” He grinned and Aleix laughed mischievously.

“So, let me get this straight. You used to have breakfasts with Cal and he got you addicted to his sausages?” 

Jorge laughed now. “Not like that!”

“How did you get all this food without me knowing?”

“I texted one of my mechanics to bring them round just now. Don’t I even get a kiss for it?”

Aleix snogged him, almost knocking the frying pan off the cooker.

“And…I don’t want to spoil the moment but Juan told me some gossip about Captain Italia.”

“Oh yes, what?”

“He’s courting some famous Spanish woman. He wants to marry her so he gets a huge Spanish fan base to compete with me and Marc.”

“He’s what? What’ll all his boyfriends think of that?”

“Dunno. Juan said Uccio isn’t happy about it. Not sure what Iannone thinks.”

Aleix stayed quiet for a while, absentmindedly setting the table for breakfast, lost in thought.

“That’s really useful to us. We could set up a video camera or something in Rossi’s bedroom, film him and Iannone fucking, then threaten to blackmail him to this Spanish girl. Iannone would be the source of his downfall.”

“You are devious, aren’t you?”

“I am. Rossi and Iannone are shits.”

“But how could we set up the video in his room? We’d never get in there without him seeing.”

“ _We_ couldn’t. But I know a man who could.”

Before Jorge could question him further, his phone beeped. “Shit! Six messages from my brother—it’s our mum’s birthday on Saturday. She’s fifty so it’s a special one with a big party. I better go and see Pol after breakfast.”

“Okay.”

“Do you—do you want to come to the party?”

“What, and meet your parents?”

“You’ve met them before loads of times. Just not as my boyfriend.”

“So I’m your boyfriend?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Yes. I want to be.”

They smiled at each other.

***

Aleix hurried round to Pol’s motorhome as soon as he’d finished eating.

“Ah, there you are. I thought you were dead!” Pol stepped over to his brother and hugged him. “It’s Tuesday and you haven’t been answering your phone since Sunday! Suzuki were looking for you, they were angry so I had to tell them you’re too injured to test so Maverick had to do it all. Luckily my girlfriend distracted me so I didn’t get too worried,” he babbled. “But where have you been?”

“Sorry. I was being distracted too.” He grinned.

“Oh yes? Who by? Does Maverick know? I thought he’d moan about doing the testing but he seemed to know you were busy before I did. He said—”

Aleix held up his hand. “Anyway. About Mamma’s birthday. Think she’d mind if I brought someone along?”

“Is it a girl?”

“Yeah, that’s right. It’s a girl. Being gay for twenty-seven years was just a phase and I've finally got over it.”

Pol laughed. “Who is it then?”

“Jorge, of course.”

“Jorge _Lorenzo_?”

“Who else?”

“Why do you like _him_? He’s so big headed and full of himself. A know-it-all.”

“He’s not like that at all, he’s the opposite when you get to know him. A totally nice guy.”

“Ooh. Sounds serious.” Pol jumped excitedly around the van, making the floor shake.

“Jorge and Aleix, sitting in a tree,  
K.I.S.S.I.N.G.,  
First came love, then came marriage,  
Then came the baby in the baby carriage.  
When’s the wedding? Should I get a new suit? Should I start calling him brother?”

“Calm down! Don’t annoy him.”

“Why not? He’s got to learn to get on with me, if we’re going to be related.”

“Pol, if you annoy Jorge _in any way_ , I’ll put an advert in the paper to say you and Bradley run an escort agency for women over sixty and you are looking for clients.” He was only half joking.

“You wouldn’t!” Pol stuck his lip out.

“Just don’t push me. Behave at Mamma’s party or else.” He punched his brother lightly on the arm, but they were both grinning.

***

**At the Espargaro family home**

“And don’t make too much of a fuss of Jorge, he gets embarrassed if people fuss,” continued Aleix to his mother as he helped her set out the party plates and cutlery. “And don’t ever ask him about that race when he—”

“Aleix! I can’t remember all your instructions,” she interrupted. “You’ve given me so many about Jorge. Do this but don’t do that, say this but don’t say that. Papa and I know Jorge, remember, we’ve met him before. Just trust us okay? And I’ll keep Uncle Pablo and Uncle Cesar under control when they get too drunk and rowdy, don’t worry.”

The clock chimed the hour. “Is that the time? I must go and fetch him.” Aleix hurried out to drive to the airport where Jorge would be arriving.

***

Jorge felt out of his depth going to the Espargaros’ home as Aleix’s boyfriend and stood in the hallway by the coats, gathering his courage to go into the main room. He’d visited a few times before as a child or teenager with his father, but he’d felt ignored as everyone revolved around the older Lorenzo. Jorge had spent his life being a prize exhibit—important but only as something to show off his father’s skills at raising such a fine and talented bike racer, a champion rider whose rise to fame was simply due to his father’s brilliant management. That was not true of course, and Jorge had proved this when aged sixteen he’d cut all ties with the man. And then he’d ended up in the Yamaha team with yet another man he’d admired at first, the team mate who he’d then realised was completely self-centred and thought the world revolved around him.

“Alright?” Aleix touched his arm, making him jump.

“Yeah. Just a bit nervous.”

“It’ll be fine, come on.” Aleix took his hand and led him into the large dining-lounge room where a long table was set out with dishes overflowing with food. Two sets of glass doors led out onto a generous balcony, which looked like it in turn led out into a garden. But as it was evening and more or less dark, all Jorge could see were lights planted at intervals along the sides of the lawn, illuminating the flower beds. 

As he stepped into the room with Aleix, the assortment of people standing and sitting around paused their talking and laughing and stared at the couple. Jorge hesitated and turned to look at the food instead—spiced tortillas, paellas with different toppings like shrimp or cod, seafood stews, chorizo and egg salads, potato and cheese omelettes, chicken pies, and beef and chili casseroles. The smells coming from the dishes were delicious and his mouth watered, but by focusing on the food he was just putting off going into the room to meet Aleix’s family and friends. 

Aleix drew him forward however. “It’s alright,” he said. “They’re friendly.”

Two tiny, old ladies hurried forward, throwing their arms around Aleix and kissing his cheeks, exclaiming fondly and reaching up to ruffle his hair. He endured it cheerfully, then said, “you’ve met Jorge before, haven’t you, Grandma and Granny? He’s my boyfriend now.”

They exclaimed happily and hugged Jorge too, anointing his cheeks with lipstick over and over again until he had to smile. “Nice to meet you,” he managed to say when they allowed him to speak.

This seemed to be the signal for everyone else to approach, as the lady guests came forward to kiss both of them, and the men to shake their hands and pat them on the back.

The volume of talking and laughing rose again and Jorge was happy to go round to each group with Aleix, answering questions which, to his relief, were never about motor racing. He felt like a normal person at this party—an ordinary man, not a superstar besieged by screaming fans—he was just Aleix’s boyfriend who family and friends asked about his likes and dislikes, his hobbies, any holidays he’d been on or was going on, where he lived and where he was born, and other non-threatening topics. And of course he enjoyed stuffing himself with all the delicious food and ignoring his racing diet for once.

The finale of the party was Aleix’s father carrying in a chocolate and raspberry mousse layer cake for his wife with _Feliz Cumpleanos_ written on it in gold icing. All the guests clapped and cheered, then the cake was cut up into pieces and put into bowls for them.

Pol came up to Jorge carrying a bowl of something else, which looked familiar. Jorge gasped when he saw it was gató i gelat d'ametlles, which he’d enjoyed as a child. 

“Mamma thought you’d like something familiar to eat at the party,” the younger Espargaro said. Jorge felt tears in his eyes because this ice-cream cake was very time consuming to make and Senora Espargaro must have spent hours stirring, freezing and refreezing the ice cream.

Aleix squeezed his arm. “She is so good at making her guests feel welcome,” he whispered in Jorge’s ear and even Pol smiled affectionately at him.

 

“See, I told you they’d like you,” said Aleix as he cuddled up with Jorge that night in his bedroom at the Espargaro house. “Even my uncles didn’t get loud and unbearable. It all went well.”

“It did. And we’re even sharing a room.”

“Oh, please. My parents aren’t so religious they want me to be alone all my life, they’re happy I’ve got a nice boyfriend. As long as we don’t wake them up with mad passionate love making, they’re cool.”

Jorge laughed. “I’m too full of cake for passionate love making tonight, sorry.”

“I wish we didn’t have to go back to the track next Wednesday.” Aleix sighed. “I’d like to stay here and live off my earnings.”

“You’d soon get bored, though—no racing, no competing, no winning. And don’t forget, we’ve got to get revenge on Rossi and Iannone.”

Aleix laughed wickedly, like a super villain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know much about Jorge’s background, I’m just guessing from what he’s said in interviews.
> 
> And I'm sure Spaniards don't know the K.I.S.S.I.N.G. rhyme but I thought it was funny ;)


	8. The Sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is very E rated! Beware! lol

**At MotoLand Aragon, Spain 2016**

 

“How long do we have to watch this damned camera?” complained Jorge as he peered at the iPad showing an empty scene of Rossi’s bedroom in his motorhome. They were sitting on Aleix’s bed in his motorhome, at Aragon this weekend, the last of the European races for a while.

“As long as it takes. As long as it took Iannone to film you two doing it—”

“Yeah, shut up about that. Hang on, is that Uccio? What’s he doing?”

Uccio was standing there giving a thumbs up to the camera.

“You wanted to know who the double agent I mentioned was?” Aleix smiled.

“What, Uccio? I thought he was Rossi’s devoted lover?”

“Yes…but even he can get sick of being treated like a slave.”

“Jesus. I never thought of him…did you bribe him?”

“No, he was drinking alone in the Aragon bar the other day and I asked him what was wrong. He just poured it all out how he’s finally got fed up with Rossi fucking around and fed up with him using all these women as beards to keep up this façade of being straight.”

Jorge smiled. He could imagine Uccio feeling safe to confess his feelings to Aleix, who was a sympathetic listening ear. After all, he’d done the same.

“As long as you didn’t end up in bed with him.” _Shut up Jorge, stop saying the first thing which comes into your head!_

Aleix gave him a long look. “Er…no. He’s a nice guy but I’d never cheat on you.”

“Sorry.”

Uccio was waving frantically on the screen, and Aleix peered at it. “Oops,” he said, and pressed a button to turn the sound on. Uccio gave the thumbs up again, then Rossi walked in, making him jump, and both Italians laughed.

“Ew, we aren’t going to see Rossi and Uccio doing it instead are we?” laughed Jorge.

“Uccio isn’t that stupid! He’s not going to film himself having sex, is he?”

Jorge raised his eyebrows and stared at him.

“Oh, sorry—I didn’t mean—you didn’t know Iannone was filming you—you trusted him and he betrayed you—sorry.” Aleix had gone pale.

But right on cue, the Italian betrayer appeared onscreen.

“Could you go and talk to that woman from merchandise about my new range of jackets for next season?” Rossi smiled angelically at Uccio, whose face froze into a professional and polite smile. He stalked out of the room, not looking at the camera.

“Poor guy. He knows Rossi and Iannone will be fucking the minute he leaves,” said Aleix.

“Well, if you play with the devil…” Jorge shrugged.

The couple watched the Italians talking, then kissing.

“Do we have to watch this? Its gross,” said Jorge.

“No. We’ll minimise the screen. It’ll still keep recording, we just won’t have to see them.”

But just hearing them kissing, talking, groaning with no picture was worse. Jorge got the giggles. “It’s like listening to some radio show. Sex in the dark, or something.”

“Not sure that idea would catch on.” Aleix giggled too.

“Do you want me to make a noise like a dog?” Iannone’s voice said. “That’s what Jorge wanted. He has a dog fetish.”

Jorge leant forward and maximised the screen to show Rossi and Iannone on the bed, having sex from behind. “I do not!” he shouted. “It was a joke! I’m not a dog abuser!”

Aleix squeezed his arm sympathetically. The camera was in front so they could see the Italians’ faces.

“Go on then, make a dog noise.” Rossi thrust into his companion, who gave a bark, which turned into a laugh.

Jorge put his head in his hands so Aleix rubbed his neck.

“What about—a cat?” panted Rossi, and Iannone meowed, which sounded rather strangled.

They carried on for a while. “Parrot?” gasped Rossi.

Iannone screeched, making them both giggle.

“Monkey?”

“Oo-oo-oo!”

They were both shaking with laughter, Rossi still inside him though.

“How about a whale?”

On the screen, Iannone’s face screwed up in puzzlement.

Jorge and Aleix doubled up laughing. “He doesn’t know what noise to make,” giggled Jorge.

“Eeeeee!” squeaked Iannone, then made clicking noises like a dolphin and he and Rossi collapsed on the bed laughing.

“This is going to show Sofia di Almeida what sort of man she’s going to marry,” hissed Aleix between giggles.

“Or what sort of animal,” sniggered Jorge.

The two men on the screen got over their hilarity though, and began taking it seriously, making the bed bounce and the camera feed cut out for milliseconds at a time.

“Ohhh, there’s something wrong with me,” sighed Jorge.

“What? There’s nothing wrong with you!”

“There is, because I’m getting turned on watching them.”

“Thank god, it’s not just me. I think it’s pretty normal to get turned on watching two hot, naked guys fucking though.” 

“We don’t need to monitor the camera all the time, do we?”

Aleix grinned. “Nope.” He pushed Jorge back on the bed.

***

A while later, a hot, sticky and out of breath Jorge and Aleix heard Iannone’s voice saying, “I think we should publish the sex tape of Jorge and me online. We can blur my face so it’s not obviously me.”

“Erm…yes. Maybe.” Rossi sounded doubtful.

Jorge sat up. “What the fuck? They want to put it online now? Making the damn thing isn’t enough?”

“Shh. We’ve got a response to them now.” Aleix pointed to the video still recording. “Not only them fucking but confessing to blackmailing you.”

“Let’s send it to them now!”

“Tomorrow. If we do it now, they’ll know exactly where we are and probably come round here. We’ll do it when they aren’t expecting it, like before the race.”

Jorge smiled. That would really be revenge for the mind games.

***

Jorge sat smugly on his sofa the evening after qualifying. The video was so lengthy it had taken a while to download onto his phone but he’d finally managed it. Then he’d sent it separately to Rossi and Iannone with a comment _this fell into my hands, can’t think how it got here._ The beep of the messages being sent had been the most satisfying thing he’d heard recently, if he didn’t count time in the bedroom with Aleix. He smiled to himself, imagining the reaction of the two Italians when they opened the file. Maybe they weren’t alone. Maybe Rossi was with his Spanish fiancée, maybe Iannone was with yet another of his conquests. He would soon find out…

***

In the pre-podium room at Aragon after the race, Jorge sneered at Vale. “So, did you like that video? I expect your fiancée will love it too.” He’d finished second to Marc, and Vale third. Bradley was also there as the top independent finisher that day. Iannone had been banned from this race due to being black flagged last time, to Jorge’s relief. He hadn’t wanted to face both Italians.

“You little—” snarled Vale, springing towards him. Luckily, Marc and Bradley’s reactions were lightning quick and they leapt between the two Yamaha riders, pushing them apart.

“Guys!” exclaimed Marc. “There’s cameras in here, remember. Sort your problems out in private.”

“You think you’re so clever!” snapped Vale at Jorge, ignoring the Honda rider restraining him.

“I didn’t start this, it was your boyfriend!” retorted Jorge, peering round Bradley.

Marc and Bradley exchanged mystified glances.

“Come on guys, chill,” said the Tech 3 rider. “We can resolve this calmly, can’t we?”

“No!” Jorge felt fire running through his veins and shouted at his team mate. “Now you know how it feels to be vulnerable and have someone you trust betray you! It’s not just a bit of fun! It hurts and isn’t fair!”

Vale’s face was white now and he slumped against Marc.

Lin Jarvis came striding in. “Lads! Keep it down please! The world is watching outside. Calm yourselves before you go to the podium.”

Jorge and Vale were glaring at each other.

“We will have a debrief to sort this out after the press conference.”

“No, no!” Jorge looked at his boss. “It’s—personal. Nothing to do with racing.”

“That’s right,” agreed Vale. “We’ll be calm, we promise.”

***

On the podium, Vale’s shoulders were down, he didn’t raise his eyes from the floor except to take his third place trophy. Whereas Jorge felt energised, his bitterness finally turning to satisfaction in getting his own back on his tormentors.

He smiled graciously at the famous actor who presented his trophy, waved at the crowd and shook hands with Marc, who was looking uncertainly from one Yamaha rider to the other, poised to step in to prevent trouble again, as did Bradley, who was hovering on the right next to Vale. But Jorge felt calm now, enjoying the sweetness of revenge. Of course if Vale threatened him, he’d probably beat the crap out of him, but he hoped the Italian wouldn’t put him in that situation—that wouldn’t be the right thing to do on a podium, especially in his home country.

***

Early the next morning, Jorge pulled Aleix to him, he couldn’t get close enough, despite his lover being inside him as far as he could, their hot, sweaty skin sticking them together as well. They kissed messily, tongues and teeth colliding, smiling against each other’s lips. They were wrapped around each other, Jorge’s legs almost round Aleix’s shoulders.

“Alright?”

“Stop asking. I’m fine.” Jorge slapped his arse, making him jump and thrust, and they both groaned. “Keep going!”

Aleix grinned wickedly, stuck his tongue out and began driving into Jorge faster and faster, pushing him into the smooth, damp sheet. He braced himself against the headboard with one hand, stroking Aleix’s back muscles with the other. He flung his head backwards and just went with the feeling of being filled and the sweet spot being hit with every thrust—he couldn’t think, he couldn’t move, he could hardly breathe and his heart was pounding like it had in the race earlier.

Pausing for a moment, Aleix pulled out a little and swayed his hips gently, and Jorge gazed up into his eyes, feeling like a bundle of frayed nerves, focusing on the shallow movements he wanted to get deep again. He clutched at his lover’s buttocks, trying to make him move, panicking that he wouldn’t, but then he did, and Jorge shouted with relief, arching upwards so far that Aleix had to quickly adjust his position, walking his hands up the bed a bit. They grinned at each other for a second, then continued, panting like they were working out and Aleix groaned, shuddering inside him, thrusting til he’d finished, breathing like a furnace. He sank down on top of Jorge, pressing against his cock, making him throw back his head again, push upwards and hot cum gush out between them.

They couldn’t speak for quite a while afterwards and lay on their backs in a post-lovemaking haze, grinning stupidly at each other.

“Why were you so worried if I was alright?” Jorge kissed him gently on the lips.

“Well—sorry to mention it—but—you said Iannone made that video when he was on top—I—I thought you might be—nervous doing it that way. You trusted him and he betrayed you, so I didn’t want to make you feel like that again.”

Jorge thought for a long time. “I—I guess you’re right,” he said at last. “He made that video when I was totally…exposed. And I did trust him or I’d never have done it with him at all.” He sighed.

“Sorry to remind you.”

“It’s okay. You’re so—so considerate and thoughtful.” He smiled at Aleix, who shrugged.

“I’m just me. I can’t be any other way.”

Jorge kissed him, slowly and lovingly, passion spent. But then of course, there was a knock on the front door to interrupt them.

Aleix tutted. “I’ll go. Whoever it is, I’ll get rid of them. You lie there and relax.” He grabbed a dressing gown and strode out of the room.

“What do _you_ want?” Jorge heard him saying. Someone mumbled a reply.

“Well he’s in the shower, so come back later. I’m surprised you can show your face round here.”

Someone mumbled again.

“Okay, bye.” The door shut firmly.

“Who was that?” asked Jorge, cuddling up to Aleix as he got back into bed. 

“Captain Italia.” He snorted. “Of all people. He’s come to _apologise._ ” He made quote marks in the air with one hand, while his other hand stroked Jorge’s hair.

“Apologise? What the hell?”

“We can put him off, you don’t even have to see him.”

“Well…I’d like to know what he says. Funny that it’s him coming round, not Iannone.”

“Who cares. They’re both twats.”

They laughed and snuggled up.

***

Later that night, there was another knock on the door and Aleix answered it again, standing right in the doorway to block anyone trying to barge in.

The visitor was Vale again, looking pale and shaky.

“Let him in, Al.” Jorge sat on the sofa, his feet on the coffee table.

Vale slunk in, looking warily at his team mate, while Aleix tactfully went into the kitchen area to put the kettle on and stayed there.

“I’ve come to say I’m very sorry, Jorge. It was a terrible thing to do and I sincerely apologise.”

Jorge stared at him, unimpressed. “Why?”

“I—erm—well, I—”

“Because now you know how it feels? What if I posted your video online?”

“Please don’t. I beg you.”

“And why isn’t _he_ here? He should apologise.”

Vale shrugged. “He wouldn’t come. He said it was just a bit of fun, nothing serious.”

“It’s not _fun!_ You can’t make videos like that!” He jumped up. “You both need to grow up!”

Aleix stepped threateningly out of the kitchen.

“Alright, alright,” Vale said. “I’m sorry. And now we’re even, aren’t we? We’ve both seen…what we’ve seen.”

They blushed and Jorge sat down again.

“Don’t ever mention that again! But…you’re engaged to a girl? And screwing men behind her back? What sort of marriage would that be?”

“I’m not marrying Sofia now. I’m going to stick with Uccio.”

“He still wants you?”

“Well, yes. I have loved him for over thirty years, so it’s time to stop messing around with other people.” Vale smiled a little.

“He’s a brave man then.”

Vale hung his head. “He told me what he thought of me. He said he helped you with your video to teach me a lesson. He said I was too old to keep doing stupid things like this, I need to grow up, like you said. He’s fed up with my fucking around, he said I was wrong to let Andrea lead me into threatening you.”

“So it was Iannone’s idea to make the video? I don’t believe you!” 

“No, no! I swear, Jorge! I didn’t know about you and Andrea til he showed me the video. I swear! On Uccio’s life!”

In the kitchen, Aleix said, “Huh! If that’s true, I’ll eat this kettle.”

Jorge smiled, but not at Vale. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well…it’s true. Believe me or not, I apologise. I was flattered by him worshipping me, but Uccio’s right. I’m too old to be acting like a teenager.”

The team mates stared at each other. 

“I’m not surprised you were flattered, he’s obsessed with you. When I was with him, all he did was talk about you.”

Vale pursed his lips. “Oh, that’s funny. When I was with him, all he did was talk about _you._ He’s green with jealousy about you and Aleix.”

“He always wants what he can’t have, I guess.”

“Maybe. But I must go. I’ve taken enough of your time.” He backed away from Jorge as if he was a servant leaving the king’s presence, and stumbled out of the front door.

“Dear god,” said Aleix, emerging from the kitchen area. “He’s full of shit as usual.”

“Yes, but I think Uccio’s got him whipped at last. But he and Iannone are over, so he won’t be making any more videos.”

“I’ll check the bedroom every time we’re in there though. Just in case.”

“At least they didn’t put me off my racing, but I’m not sure what I’d have done without you.” He pulled Aleix to him and they kissed deeply.

“But I knew I was onto something,” blurted Aleix when they stopped for breath. “I was right the first time.”

“What?”

“When I read that stuff in my Freud book about dreams. You lacked confidence due to lack of sexual fulfilment. Now we’re doing it all the time your racing has got better. And mine has too.”

Jorge considered this for a while. “I’d normally say _get over yourself Espargaro_ but I agree.”


	9. Iannone Cannone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iannone has been stewing for weeks about what happened. Now he makes his feelings clear.

**At the Motegi track, Japan 2016**

Jorge was fast asleep in his motorhome after the qualifying day, when a loud knocking on the front door awoke him.

“Hold on,” he mumbled, pulling on his tracksuit trousers. _It must be Aleix, he must have forgotten his key. He probably has another of his million great ideas to tell me. Or it’s a booty call._

Jorge opened the door cautiously, as it was midnight and if it wasn’t Aleix, he didn’t want to deal with fans accosting him.

But Iannone stood there frowning at him.

“Go away!” Jorge shouted and tried to shut the door but Iannone put his foot in the way.

“You’ve ruined my life!” he snarled as he lurched unsteadily into the room. His eyes were suspiciously bloodshot.

“ _I’ve_ ruined _your_ life? What the hell are you talking about?”

“No one speaks to me now. Vale pretends he had nothing to do with any of what happened, he says it was all my idea.”

A cold shiver ran down Jorge’s spine. “So—people know about the sex tapes? But—no-one’s said anything, or—”

“No! Don’t be stupid! No one knows! Vale just spread rumours that I’d done something and all his fans and friends ignore me now. He is so powerful that people do whatever he says. And Suzuki are reviewing whether they want me now and you’re taking my place at Ducati! I’ve been abandoned by everyone!”

Jorge folded his arms. “You started it! It’s your own fault, you fucking idiot! You took the video of me!” His stomach was in knots and hot rage flooded his body. He clenched his fists. “You’re disgusting and evil!”

“Oh, are you going to hit me now, _ragazzino_?” The Italian laughed bitterly.

“No. Get out!” Jorge pointed to the door, keen to send his unwelcome visitor away as soon as possible.

“I will not go!” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a revolver. Jorge’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“What the—what the hell are you doing with that?” He backed away and fell onto the sofa, keeping his eyes fixed on the weapon.

“I want that sex tape of me and Vale and you’re going to give it to me!” He waved the gun drunkenly.

“Maniac, listen! I haven’t got it! It’s on Aleix’s camera! Honestly! I haven’t got it!” Jorge felt sweat running down his spine. “If you shoot me, how would that help you?”

“I was going to—oh you aren’t going to make me tell my secrets!” He suddenly slumped down on the other sofa. “My life is ruined! I never should have tried to impress Vale and Uccio! They are getting married and all the friends we shared have deserted me!”

Jorge took a deep breath. “I’m sure you’ve got other friends.” _How can I raise the alarm? No one else will be awake at this hour. It’s up to me to prevent a disaster._ He forced himself to be calm.

“You ruined everything! You made that video of Vale and me and it made him change his mind about me! I blame you, you are a traitor!”

 _Oh great. I’m in the firing line. Literally._ “What did you make a video of us for anyway?” Jorge felt sick thinking about it but had to find out. 

“We were going to use it to blackmail you into riding badly and letting Vale win the championship. It was a bit of fun, I thought.”

“It’s not FUN! You can’t make videos of people having sex without their consent, its illegal!” Jorge’s whole body was boiling with embarrassment and anger, he caught sight of himself in a mirror and he looked like a beetroot.

“Or maybe we could watch our tape together?” Iannone waggled his eyebrows.

Jorge glared at him. “Vale told me about you. Talking about me when you’re with him. And I know you talked about him when you were with me.” He kept his eyes fixed on the gun in Iannone’s hand.

“Well, you know.” The Italian shrugged, waving the revolver around as he did so. Jorge felt like he was glued to his seat on the sofa, just waiting for a shot to be fired.

“Have you been drinking alone? That’s not good.”

“Well thanks to you, no one wants to drink with me anymore!” he shouted, jumping up. “It is all your fault!”

Jorge forced himself to remain calm although his heart felt like it was in his mouth. “Seriously, why do you blame me? I don’t understand.”

“Well if you hadn’t—if we hadn’t—Stop confusing me!” He swayed, waved his arms and Jorge genuinely thought he was going to shoot the ceiling.

“I’m sorry if I confused you, or upset you.” Jorge frantically tried to think of the right thing to say. “I thought it was all fun til you took a video of us.” _Well that isn’t the right thing to say, you idiot!_

“It was fun, but then, the _finocchio_ Espargaro came along and interfered. He turned you against me and Uccio against Vale. It is all his fault!”

“No, it isn’t.” Jorge tried to keep his voice calm and neutral. “He was protecting me. He’s just friends with Uccio, he didn’t turn anyone against anyone.”

“But you didn’t need protecting! It was only a silly thing that happened!”

_He isn’t making any sense. I’ve got to get the gun off him quickly._

“Look, Maniac, let’s talk about this in the morning when you’ve slept it off. Just give me the gun and we’ll both be happier. Please.”

“In the morning? You want me to stay?” He winked.

_Shit. That’s just made it worse. What do I say now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was still going round in my head because I don’t think it had the right ending. Iannone and Lorenzo need to interact. So I’m adding more chapters.


	10. Making deals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorge is still held prisoner by the unpredictable Iannone.

**At the Motegi track, Japan 2016**

 

“No, I just meant you need sleep,” Jorge gabbled, nervously gripping the side of the sofa cushion out of Iannone’s sight. “You can have the bedroom near the driving cab, you always liked that one. Just leave the gun with me. I don’t want you shooting yourself by accident, there’s no point in that.”

“Aww…Jorge cares.” The Italian burst out laughing, so uncontrollably that it turned into coughing and wheezing.

Jorge sat watching, his back was cold with sweat but he tried to look calm. _If I get the gun, where would I put it? If he stays the night, he could wake up anytime and find the gun again. I’ll have to stay up all night guarding him. Just what I don’t need before a race._

_The race. Aha! Talk about that to distract him._

“So, Maniac, are you hoping to get on the podium tomorrow? It would be good to get on there again, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded. “I could win again. I won before. Couldn’t I? But who would care? No one would congratulate me, I’d be all alone again.” He slumped back onto the sofa.

_A self-pitying drunk. Just what I need._ “I’d congratulate you and so would—so would—” He scrabbled around for the name of someone reasonable and fair, someone who would treat anyone kindly and someone Iannone liked. “—so would _Dani._ See, you’re not alone.”

“I am always unique though. I must become the proud man I once was.” He sat up straight, waved his arms and dropped the revolver.

Jorge froze. He couldn’t leap up, grab the gun and get into a fight with him. That was the way to an accidental shooting injury or even death! However, his visitor didn’t seem to have noticed he had lost it, but fell back on the sofa again, his eyes closing.

Jorge sat quietly, hoping his visitor would fall asleep and to his relief, light snores soon echoed around the room. He stood up silently and tiptoed towards the sleeping Italian and bent down to pick up the gun. Slowly, slowly…

Just as he was about to pick it up, Iannone’s eyes flew open and he grabbed his wrist. “You betrayer!” he shouted, right in his face. “I knew you were against me!” He pushed the struggling Jorge backwards and pinned him onto the sofa.

“Why couldn’t you just stay with me, not that _coglione_ Espargaro?” the Italian whispered in his ear.

The Majorcan wanted to shout _because you made a sex tape of us! How could I stay with you?_ But as there was a gun near his head, that wouldn’t be wise. He made himself relax and breathe calmly. “Please get off, you’re hurting me.”

“Are you sure? You could have me again if you want, Lunatico.” He breathed alcohol fumes all over him.

It was all very familiar being in this position. It had been convenient between them for those months and they had enjoyed themselves. Jorge’s body was tempted for a second but his brain interrupted, reminding him of the betrayal, the threat, how much better everything was with Aleix.

“I won’t if you’re holding me at gunpoint,” he said, bracing himself for the worst.

To his surprise, Iannone agreed. “Sorry,” he said, and moved off him. “How about some other time?”

_Will this night never end? I must keep trying._ “Well the deal is, if we end up on the podium together, we’ll celebrate then, okay?”

“Oh yes, that is a good deal.” He sat up again.

Then Jorge’s phone beeped with the arrival of a text message, and he leapt to grab it. He just managed to type _Help gun_ when it was snatched away from him.

“Who was that? What did you reply?” Iannone twirled the revolver round in his hand like a cowboy, hypnotising Jorge.

“My sister. I just typed _busy._ ”

“That is rubbish. You are a liar.” He peered at the phone, trying to focus.

_Shit, this is going terribly wrong._ “You are so lucky to have a brother. My sister interferes with my life all the time,” he babbled. “She has no idea about motor racing and wants me to sort out her problems in the middle of the night.”

His companion watched him for a while, holding the revolver like a cigarette pointed towards the ceiling in one hand.

“Where is Angelo anyway? He’s usually with you.”

“Even he has disowned me! Even my brother is disgusted with me thanks to Vale’s likes, and he won’t speak to me. How can I make all this right? People are always making life so difficult for me!”

“I’m sure you’ll make it up with him. Time heals, nothing lasts forever.” Jorge tried to remember all the platitudes his grandmother told him as a child.

“No. Nothing does last forever,” snarled his assailant, standing up. “We are going now.”

“Going where?”

“To Vale. We are going to convince him to stop spreading bad words about me. Then we will go to your boyfriend and get the tape. We will change everything in my life.” He dragged Jorge up to standing and towards the door.


	11. Collaborators

**At the Motegi track, Japan 2016 and somewhere in the Mediterranean**

As Iannone opened the front door, someone pushed him off balance and he tripped down the steps.

“Espargaro!” bellowed Iannone, then launched himself at Aleix and pushed him back against the side of the motorhome with his forearm pressing his throat. He was just about to point the revolver at him when Jorge grabbed his arm and banged it against the wall til he dropped the gun and it fell into the darkness. The Italian didn’t stop there, however, he began strangling Aleix and they fell onto the ground.

Jorge tried to pull him away but he was too angry and strong despite the stricken Aleix clawing, punching and hitting at him. Then they began rolling towards the tarmac path. Jorge wrenched at Iannone’s jacket, his hair, his neck but he seemed to have the strength of ten men and resisted all attempts to stop him.

So Jorge ran inside his motorhome to look round for something heavy. Senora Espargaro had sent him a large tin of biscuits as a present—it was perfect! He grabbed it and returned to the fight. It was still dark and the fighters had rolled out of the light streaming from the windows. He didn’t want to hit Aleix of course, so he stood for a while making sure which of the men was his target, then at last battered Iannone on the head with the tin.

After a few hits, the tall Italian slumped on top of Aleix, who said, “get him off me!” so they rolled him onto the ground where he lay like a beached whale.

“Are you alright?” Aleix jumped up and hugged Jorge. 

“Me? I’m fine. You’re the one covered in blood and bruises. How did you know to text me just then?”

“I had a Feeling. One of my Feelings.” Aleix smiled into his face. “I couldn’t sleep and felt like you were in trouble.”

“Thank god for your Feelings.”

“I wish I’d been here to help you with him.”

“But you did help me! If you’d been with me, he’d have held us both hostage and no one would have known.” Jorge kissed him proudly. “You did great!”

“Thank you so much.” Aleix bowed but ended up nearly knocking them both over as they were still hugging.

By this time, people were switching lights on in nearby motorhomes and sleepy riders and support staff peering out of windows and wandering outside.

“What’s going on?” shouted Cal. “Thought I’d get a good night’s sleep if I parked near you, Jorge.”

Dani looked out of his window. “Are you alright?”

Some security guards hastened up too. “Can we help, Mr Lorenzo, sir?”

Flashing lights announced the arrival of the police, followed by heavy stamping boots signalling the appearance of four Japanese officers running up to them. They were accompanied by Pol carrying the revolver in a clear plastic bag. 

“I called the police,” said the younger Espargaro unnecessarily.

“How did you get that?” gasped Jorge, pointing at the gun.

“I came along with Aleix and when Iannone dropped it, I thought it was best to take it away in case he got it again.” Pol smiled smugly.

The sergeant took the gun bag from Pol and the three constables handcuffed Iannone, who began waking up and thrashing about in their arms. They found it hard to restrain him so the security guards hurried to help.

“So, Mr Lorenzo, you were detained by Mr Iannone using this weapon?” the sergeant asked.

“That’s right. He’s drunk or something,” said Jorge, still cuddling Aleix. “He wasn’t making sense.”

“Why did he do this? Have you argued about something?”

“Well, okay, we sort of—we were in a relationship—then when we broke up, he accused me of turning our friends against him.”

“Jealous ex-boyfriend,” added Aleix. “And very delusional.”

“I see,” said the sergeant, writing in his official notebook. “We’ll ask you to come to the police station later to answer questions about this.” He gave a small bow then went to supervise his colleagues putting the complaining Italian in the police car.

“My plan would have worked if it wasn’t for you meddling Espargaros!” shouted Iannone, shaking his fist at the couple. “I’ll get you for this! Watch out in future!”

“Be quiet!” ordered a constable, shutting the door on him.

“He’ll be alright once he sobers up, don’t worry,” said Aleix.

Jorge exhaled loudly. “That was a couple of hours I want to forget.”

“I can imagine, but relax, he’s gone now.”

“He’s gone insane more like. What’s got into him lately?”

“God knows.”

The other riders and support staff milled round asking questions, so Jorge and Aleix left Pol to deal with them and escaped to sit down on a nearby seat. The security guards marshalled everyone back to their motorhomes, telling them to wait until daylight to discuss the events of the night.

“Hopefully, they won’t ask him about the bank account,” said Aleix.

“The what?”

“You know, the—” He mouthed _sex tape._ “You’ve forgotten our code word for it.”

“Well, I have been _a little_ distracted.”

“Yes of course. Thank god you’re alright.” Aleix hugged him and nearly squeezed the breath out of him.

“So how did you get Pol to come with you so quickly?”

“I had just called him to say I was worried about you and he came round, so we were both awake and dressed. He thought I was worrying for nothing but I wasn’t.”

Jorge smiled happily at him.

***

One month later, Jorge and Aleix lay sunbathing and sipping champagne on the deck of Aleix’s yacht, as the two-man crew sailed them round the small islands in the Mediterranean.

“Thank god that season’s over,” said Jorge. “The worst of my life. And I didn’t even win the title.”

Aleix tutted. “Can’t believe you’re worried about that after your ex-lover made a sex tape and threatened you with it, then held you at gunpoint. Your life is like those erotic novels they sell in airports.”

“Maybe I should write one of those!” Jorge laughed. “What name would I use? Jorgina Lorenza, I could wear a long blonde wig. You could be my secretary and type it for me.”

“I’m not being your secretary!” Aleix flicked champagne at him. “Get someone else!”

“I’ll get your friend Uccio to type it. He’s used to being a servant.”

“He’s not my friend! I’m glad we don’t talk to any of that lot anymore. They’re all crazy.”

“Well, yes, they are. Duh!”

“Don’t you _duh_ me. You were fooled by them too. At least Iannone was arrested and sentenced for kidnapping you.”

“He didn’t kidnap me, I’m not a child! I could have escaped at any time! But I’m just happy the sex tapes didn’t come out.”

“It’s amazing they didn’t. I suppose we’ve got Rossi to thank for that.”

“I’m not thanking him for anything!”

“Fair enough. It’s the perfect ending—Iannone gets punished but you don’t get embarrassed.”

“Everything was his fault anyway. It was all too complicated, I’m glad it’s all simpler now.”

“Yes, it’s just you and me now.”

“It is.” They clinked glasses.

“Ooh look!” Aleix pointed at two dolphins jumping out of the sea in the distance. “Aren’t they amazing?”

Jorge grinned and kissed him as their boat sailed off across the darkening cobalt sea towards the glowing golden sunset.

THE END


End file.
